


A Necessary Resolution

by Sassy_Lil_Scorpio



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Enemies, Epic Fail, Gen, Isolation, Resolution, Threats, WWF Attitude Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 11:58:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17120930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sassy_Lil_Scorpio/pseuds/Sassy_Lil_Scorpio
Summary: {WWF Attitude Era} Shane McMahon offers an ultimatum to The Rock: eliminate Stone Cold on his next assignment or leave The Corporation. The Rock reflects on his standing in The Corporation now that his arch-enemy,Triple H, has joined the corrupt affiliation, and is competing against him to be #1. The Rock's thoughts revolve around Triple H, Stone Cold, Mankind, and Shane McMahon.





	A Necessary Resolution

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The author makes no claim of ownership to characters mentioned in this fanfiction. All names, i.e. The Rock, Triple H, Stone Cold Steve Austin, Mankind, Vince McMahon and Shane McMahon are property of the WWF and Titan Sports Inc. No monetary gain is being made from this story was inspired by the song, "We Need a Resolution" by Aaliyah and the infamous Triple H/Rock feud from the WWF Attitude Era. This fanfic was originally posted on FanFiction.Net (FFN) in May 2001.

"Take a seat guys. Facing each other—that would be nice for a change," Shane-o Mac prompts out his last line expecting a response as I walk into the room and sit down on a folding chair. He looks at me strangely and I stare back at him. He opens his mouth to reprimand me, but then thinks better of it. Good. Know your role and shut your mouth. I'm sure he won't say anything to his precious new prize. Shane removes his eyes from mine, but I still maintain my solid expression.

"For once, can you two sit together and not fight?" I hear an irritated note in Shane's voice. Like whining superiority.

I remain in my seat facing forward with my arms folded across my chest. I notice a small blemish on the bleach white wall and focus my attention on it. I don't hear any noise of shifting places from around me, so I figure _he_ is like me and refuses to budge. I'm not complaining—the last thing I want is to look at _his_ face. It would hurt my precious eyes and what good will The Corporate Champion be, if he suffers from the horrible fate of being blinded by the worst cockamamie piece of trash to ever exist: Triple H.

Triple H.

Just thinking of his name makes me want to retch. I feel like someone shoved a lemon in my mouth and expects me to swallow the entire fruit.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Shane close the door and pull up a seat. He has a suitcase that he opens up and begins rummaging through.

"Need help with that?" I hear Helmsley ask. Low class suck-up.

Shane has found what he is looking for. "Ah, here we go."

He smacks down a pile of photos. I don't even have to take a slight glance at the pictures to know who it is. I've seen them over a million times. One more time won't change the person in the pictures.

"This son of a bitch has been on The Corporation's hit list for a long time. Vince would be pleased, to say the least, if we can take care of him this weekend—for good," Shane sneers.

Stone Cold Steve Austin—the biggest piece of Texas trailer park trash walking God's green earth. When will Shane give it a break? I should know the answer to my question. It's so obvious. Never. Stone Cold will always be Shane's favorite game in The Corporation's annual hunting season.

"Can I see the pictures?" Triple H asks from behind me. His voice is like nails scratching on a chalkboard. I cringe at the sound of it and want to put my hands over my ears. I'm sure he feels the same way about me, but I don't care if he does.

Shane passes the photos to him and they begin talking as if I weren't in the room. I'm used to this already, but it's still annoying. Ever since _he_ joined The Corporation, it seems like everyone has pressed an "Ignore The Rock" button in their system.

"How long has it been, Shane?" Triple H handles the picture.

"A long time. Dad has hated him ever since he stepped foot into the WWF."

"Time for a score to be settled."

"More than that. Austin needs to be obliterated."

"He should be no problem to get rid of. Leave it to me."

"We've tried to get rid of him, but he keeps popping up. Certain people who were hired to get rid of him are becoming a hindrance."

I know that last comment was directed at _and_ refers to me. Shane should have the taste slapped out of his mouth for his damn nerve.

"Then you should cut off the loose ends," Triple H says matter-of-factually and he hands the pictures back to Shane.

I'm about to jump out of my seat, but something tells me to keep my cool. He's only trying to bait me and we both know it. I won't give him the satisfaction. He isn't worthy of it, nobody is.

"That can wait till later," Shane murmurs.

What the hell is that supposed to mean? I'm going to be booted out of The Corporation for this low-life ex-D-generate? Give me a break. You must be kidding me.

Silence fills the room and Shane places the photos in front of me. I don't look at them until he begins urging me to do so or else. Fine, Shane. I'll look and admire at the wonderful boring pictures of Austin, if it will shut your trap. First photo. Stone Cold sitting on top of his monster truck drinking his beer. So what else is new? The son of a bitch is always drowning himself in Coors. He probably bathes in it too. Second photo. Oh look at this; Stone Cold doesn't know how to express himself adequately like The Rock can. So the trailer park trash resorts to giving his two middle fingers to the camera. How nice. By the time I get to the other photos, I'm tired of the whole thing: the ultimate goal to get rid of Stone Cold. Mission impossible. He's not leaving anytime soon, why can't the McMahons just shut up about it?

"Look at him. He's disgusting with that cocky Texas grin," Shane stands over my shoulder and points at the photo.

I hate having The Boy Wonder watch over me like I'm some kindergartener. He's been doing this ever since Helmsley danced his way into The Corporation. I get frustrated and toss the pictures into the air. Both men rush to pick up the photos.

"The Rock says to hell with all this. Can The Corporation move on?" It's the first time I asked this aloud. I'm shocked at my words, but then again, I'm the one who has suffered a Stone Cold Stunner more than enough times. So has Shane. I'd love to see Triple H get the crap stunned out of him. Now _that_ would be most worthwhile.

"What's a matter, Rocky? You can't put away Austin?" Triple H is really asking for it. "Stop crying because you've always walked away the loser when fighting him."

I roll my eyes in suppressed anger and rise from my chair. Little bitch. He has struck a nerve and now he is yanking and pulling at it. He enjoys doing this. I feel the words forming on my lips and turn to say something to him. He has a wide smirk on his face because he knows how much he is getting under my skin. These days it doesn't take a lot for him to even pry into me. Just being in the same room is torture enough. Before I even open my mouth, Shane slams the photos on the table.

"Maybe you should retire, Rock." He's continues to taunt. Shane won't say anything about that of course. Shane _loves_ him.

I feel anger choking me. Bitter biting words form in my throat, ready to spill from my lips. Apparently, Triple H isn't the only one who knows me like a book.

"Before you go and run your mouth like you always do, I'm only going to ask you nice one last time. Shut up. I didn't bring out these photos so that you can toss them everywhere."

"Shane—" I start, but he motions me to keep my mouth shut. Again, I'm not used to shutting up for anyone. "He's not going to stop anytime soon. The Rock is tired of doing this one-man mission of getting rid of Austin. The Corporation should aspire to higher things such as—"

"Such as what, Rocky? Go ahead and run your mouth. I'm waiting."

I'm going to say something, but little Tarzan-wannabe beats me to it.

"First thing's first. You want Austin gone, then it will be done."

"Stop kissing ass."

Triple H turns to me and gives me a murderous glare.

"I'm not kissing ass, but I'll gladly _kick_ some ass and it won't be Austin's."

"Quit yapping like a baby and let's go one on one. The Rock says we can go outside if you want."

"Why go outside, when I can tear you up right here and now?"

He advances towards me and I get ready to throw a few punches. I'll put a nice dent in his oversized nose. Suddenly, Shane is between us and he shoves me back and pushes Helmsley away. He's trying to prevent another fight similar to the one that had happened in his office a few weeks ago. This time his efforts aren't in vain and Triple H and I back off from each other. For now. There will be other times for me to whip his candy-ass into shape. And when the next opportunity presents itself, make no mistake about it, Triple H will get checked into his very own room in the world-renowned Smackdown Hotel.

Shane starts lecturing us like we're kids: we need to learn to cooperate, we need to stop fighting and whether we like it or not, we are going on a "business trip" to take care of Stone Cold Steve Austin for good.

For the first time, Triple H and I are both shocked at the same thing and can actually empathize with each other. Neither one of us wants to be around the other and now Shane is babbling about how we're going to be in the same limousine together and that it will be a team effort to get rid of Austin. Team effort, my ass. There is no team in Triple H and The Rock. Never has and never will be. Nevertheless, Shane has already made up his mind. He opens the door and Triple H leaves first. I get ready to follow him out the door when Shane motions me to sit down. What now?

"You're on your way out, Rocky."

"Out of what?"

"The Corporation," he snaps. "What else could I be talking about?"

"What for?"

"Quit asking your stupid bit questions. 'Out of what?' 'What for?' You act as if you don't have a clue of what I'm talking about."

For some strange reason, I feel betrayed from Shane's new treatment and attitude towards me. What happened to the days when he'd kiss my ass and root for me while I kicked Mankind around in the parking lot? We used to constantly hang out together. There were nights when we drove around in his limo till six in the morning. Played pool, dined out, and went club hopping. We would crash parties just for the hell of it. Those days are long over and it's hard to believe they ever existed. Now that Triple H is here…he doesn't have any kind words anymore. Not that I need them. I never needed him. Or his father, for that matter. Vince and Shane McMahon love to think they have me, The Rock—The Great One, on a leash and that I'm a dog who will fetch the stick they throw. They better think again. I'm getting a little tired of playing The Corporation's "Crown Jewel" for them.

"See, this is what I mean. You're not even listening to me," Shane sounds like he has a golf ball stuck in his throat and he's trying unsuccessfully to cough it up. I hope he chokes on it.

"The Rock hears you," I look at my fingernails. They're due for another manicure. Lace 'em up with clear nail polish to get that nice crystal shine.

"Exactly. You _hear_ me, but you aren't _listening_ to me. You think you're too good for anybody, Rock. That's your problem."

"The Rock says he supposes so," I reply absent-mindedly. He's right to a certain extent. I don't care what he says. And I am _too_ good for him. It's about time Shane-o Mac accept these hard cold facts. I really don't care anymore and his words and insults fall on my deaf ears. Let him complain all he wants.

"Saturday. My office at noon. Pack lightly."

Shane walks out and slams the door. I look around the room. All alone. Like a rock. It feels naturally comfortable. Maybe I'm meant to be a loner. I sit still in my chair and resume my natural poise. One word, one name floats in my mind.

Austin.

_Everything_ is always about Austin. Austin this, Austin that. It grows tiring after awhile. I've had plenty of trouble defeating him, but he always gave me a good fight. Austin is just a bored laid-off man, who won't leave Vince alone because he doesn't want to collect unemployment. He thinks he's a bad ass drinking all his stale beer. But Shane wants to take care of him. What Shane wants, he gets. More like Vince McMahon. Like father like son. And when one starts to nag you, then it's all said and done.

It wasn't always like this.

When I first joined The Corporation, I was treated like a king. Everywhere I went, I walked out on red carpet. Ordered the valet to park my Lincoln and if they scratch it, then the money is coming out of their measly wallet. I was Vince's jewel, his diamond, and his pearl. Everyone wanted a piece of The Rock. Goofs would stare with their mouths open wide and all the girls would gawk at The Rock. They knew he was the best damn thing ever made by God on the face of the earth. Everyone wanted to rub shoulders with The Rock. I dined at the best restaurants; stayed at the most luxurious hotels, and they even provided me with a new wardrobe. Silk shirts galore, tailor made pants, and high-class shoes made only for the best. The greatest. And you damn well better believe that those fancy silk shirts cost five hundred dollars a piece. Every last one of them.

There was just one thing they wanted me to do. _One small favor_ , Shane said one night with a martini in his right hand.

Eliminate Stone Cold Steve Austin.

Now that's where I ran into trouble. No matter how many times I pounded his bald head into the wrestling ring's hard canvas, he would always get up to fight more.

Beating up Mankind was a piece of cake, compared to trashing Austin. The worst thing that deranged lunatic Mankind had done was dirty my fingernails and slop an egg on my hair. It cost over a hundred dollars to have my raven hair pampered and restored to its natural healthy state. And he used to shove that disgusting dirty sock down my throat and traumatize me with it. Mr. Socko. Mr. Socko, indeed. Mankind was a ten-pound bag of monkey crap fighting in a five-pound bag of monkey crap. I could deal with him. The Rock could manage him quite well.

Then you had Austin. I could literally feel the electricity pump through my body when I prepared myself to fight him. I had him beat so many times and so many times he would just kick out. He never gave in and I had to admit: Austin was a worthy opponent of The Rock's. No one else went out there and gave The Rock his all, like he did. I did everything possible and even tossed him over a bridge. He came back just like the cat. I was enjoying it and having the time of my life. I ignored the warning signs that crept up like haunted shadows.

Soon, certain people weren't pleased with my progress. It was eliminate Austin and maintain your title as The Corporate Jewel or start looking elsewhere. It seemed like my time with The Corporation was about to expire, but I pressed on. Like hell they would toss me to the curb after thinking they had used me to the fullest extent. On the contrary, it was _I_ who used the McMahons. Then in one fell swoop it all went down the drain. One night I couldn't beat Austin. It wasn't out of the ordinary. I had given my all that night and I just wouldn't do it anymore. I needed a rest from kicking Austin's ass around the ring. However, that same night, Shane introduced the newest member to Team Corporate. Bad enough I lost that night, but then to find out I had to be on the same team as _him_. It doesn't help either when I have the likes of Shane McMahon rubbing the Texan's triumph in my face in front of the entire Corporation and especially Triple H.

Triple H.

Hunter Hearst Helmsley.

My mind wanders back to him again. I feel a headache burning my temples at the mere mention of him. Something about him is ten thousand times worse than Austin and Mankind put together. When he walks inside a room, my innards freeze and I have to breathe very slowly. If I look at him and he looks back, my vision blurs and I see red. His very presence in The Corporation threatens me. As much as I'm sick of being The Corporate King, I'm not about to move over for anyone, especially _him._ It takes a very special man to fill The Rock's shoes. No one can do it. The fact that this two-faced three-foot nose freak wants to try and take my place irks me to no end. Who does he think he is anyway? As if he knew I was thinking of him, the door opens, and Triple H strolls in. My heart pounds and my hands instinctively clench into tight fists. I sit back in my chair and watch as he shuts the door and turns to me.

"What are you doing here by yourself?" He asks.

"Mind your damn business."

"Your mouth needs to be washed with soap."

"The Rock asks if you are going to be the one to do the honors."

"Maybe I will, if you provide the soap."

Words cannot express how much I hate this man. We have a very nasty history together…it would take too long to explain it all. Let's just say we will never be friends. Some things are not meant to be. The Rock is apt with words, but when it concerns Triple H, a mental block happens. Then in a rush, trash flows out of my mouth like the Niagara Falls.

"The Rock has a better idea. Go find some soap and scrub your roody-poo candy ass. The Rock doesn't want to be contaminated from your dirty stinking carcass."

Triple H's eyes flash with anger and he gnashes his teeth. Good, I'm glad I struck a nerve in him. What comes around goes around.

"You're begging to get punched in the mouth."

"The Rock doesn't beg for anything. He won't even beg for you to leave the room."

"Then in that case, I'm staying." He pulls a chair over to where I'm at and sits right across from me so that we're face to face.

I see my reflection in his eyes. And I see his envy for The Great One. That's no surprise. When you're a jewel and a gem like The Rock, you're bound to get jealousy and animosity from others. Especially from little peons like Triple H. His hazel eyes are always laced with hate and rage. He needs to lighten up. Wow, his nose is _real_ big. It's probably the reason he skulks around. An Olympic swimmer could dive off of it and get gold. I try to hold back a laugh.

"What's so funny, Rock?"

"Look in the mirror."

Instinctively, his hands reach up to caress his nose. He should be used to this by now. Everyone has jokes on his nose, but I'll never stop. His hands slap the table that we're seated at.

"I have a better idea. Why don't you remove those shades, so that I can look you in the eye."

"The Rock's shades are staying on."

"I don't see any sun in here. Take them off."

"The Rock is protecting his eyes from _you_ , jabroni. The Rock doesn't want to be blinded from the sight of trash like you."

I get up from my chair and walk to the door. I turn around once, lower my shades, and arch my eyebrow at Triple H. He looks furious and begins shaking a can of soda. He better know his damn role and not come near me with that can. Suddenly, I wonder why I'm leaving the room. I was here first. He reads my mind and grins because he thinks he won.

"Go ahead and run, Rocky. You always do."

"The Rock doesn't run from the likes of you. Where's Shane?"

"Stop dodging the topic. That's the sign of a real bitch. Something _you_ are."

The door is partway open and I was going to be the better man and leave his candy-ass to soak in his Rock envy juices. Now he really has me and I whip around to say something smart to him. A metallic clicking sound and I'm sprayed with soda. Suddenly, rush of orange liquid blinds my vision and I raise my hands to block the soda assault. Too late. I stand frozen in place as the soft drink drips down my face and soaks into my shirt. Far away, he is laughing like a hyena as he shakes the last droplets on me.

The last time I got humiliated like this Stone Cold sprayed beer from some a Coors Light truck and soaked me from head to toe. He did the same to Vince and Shane. The only difference is Vince and Shane aren't here and Triple H is the perpetrator. I know Shane will point his little finger at me. That's the way it is now. It's so dumb that I have to laugh at the stupidity of it. Triple H does something, I snap back at him, and then I get scolded in front of The Corporation like I'm a kid.

To hell with it all.

I reach across the table and punch Triple H across the face. Before he can recover, I rush around the table and slam him against the wall. He throws the can in my direction and I duck to avoid it. Someone gets hit with it and it's not me. Shane storms in with the soda can clutched in his hand. He shakes his head and then looks in my direction. He rolls in eyes and scrunches up his face when he smells the soda. Hmmm, how did I know that would happen? I point at Triple H; after all, he had a part to play in our little spat.

"Save it, Rocky." He holds up his hand and turns to Triple H. Then in their usual manner, they begin talking about me like I'm not even there. I hate it so damn much, but I'm helpless to stop it. Someone's pushing me out of my throne and I can't even prevent it. I lean against the wall watching their exchange.

"I'm sorry about the can. Wasn't meant for you."

"Don't stress it."

"I'm not."

"He's been a little feisty lately because you're on his turf."

"I don't know what the hell got into him. You say one thing to him and he snaps."

"Rocky is known to have a short temper."

"He better start learning to control it, if he knows what's good for him."

_"You son of a bitch,"_ I swear vehemently. I'm shaking and not from the cold soda.

Shane and Triple H look up as if noticing me for the first time.

"What's your problem?" Shane-o asks.

Good question. What _is_ my problem? It's both of them. But it's _him_. I swallow bitterly and my mouth is enveloped with a sour glaze. I remove my shades and stare Triple H in the eyes. Are you happy now? Is this what you wanted? I can't take my eyes off of his eyes and he's transfixed as well. We can stare hatefully at each other all day like this. He's smiling a sick twisted smile that I've seen before. Shane steps in between us. I try to step around him, but he blocks me from reaching out and hurting Triple H more. It doesn't deter my glare at the man who is slowly moving in and shoving me out of his way. Rocks don't move out the way for anybody, so I don't know what makes him think I'll move for him.

"Get out of the damn way, Shane." I can barely hear my own words.

"Calm down—just calm down for a minute. You're not getting around me, so you might as well stop while you can."

"Boo-hoo, don't cry Rocky. It's just soda. It could have been battery acid."

"Fuck off."

"You have a very dirty mouth. What did I tell you about that before? Don't worry, I'm gonna add soap to my grocery list. Which brand do you prefer?"

"Take that soap and shove it up your candy-ass."

Suddenly, Shane finds his inner-strength and pushes me away while he holds back Triple H. Helmsley begins whispering in Shane's ear and Shane nods eagerly and then turns around to glare at me.

"What's your problem, Rock? Did you sleep on the wrong side of the bed?"

He thinks this is funny. Keep laughing Shane-o. He isn't the only one amused by this. Triple H loves every minute of it.

"We should make you sleep on the couch." Helmsley has to add his two cents so he can feel somewhat intelligent. The key word being "somewhat".

Shane nods in agreement and then gets serious for once. I'm on my way out and this time I won't be lured back.

"Don't leave, Rock. I'm not finished with you yet."

I'm sure you're not, Mr. Nose. And I've got two words for you: Plastic surgery.

"Rock, if you walk out that door, don't come back again. You walk out that door and you can say good-bye to The Corporation."

Now it's Shane who is holding me up. His words freeze me I have one foot out of the room and the other one still inside. For a minute, I question if I still care about being associated with the McMahons. I don't. I get ready to make my final step out.

"I mean it. Step out the room and step out of The Corporation."

I don't know what the hell I'm doing. I don't leave the room. I should have left. It would have been an easy way out. But I don't want the easy way out. Instead, I listen to Shane scold me for the thousandth time. Halfway through, I tune him out and all I hear are disconnected robotic sounds coming from his lips. I ignore Triple H's nasty cheesy grin. He can gloat until his face falls off. I hope it melts off. I consider going out to buy acid and smile at the thought. Shane finally says something that catches my attention.

"We need a resolution. Are you in or out?"

"In."

I send Triple H my cockiest grin and flash my eyebrow at him. He sneers. His nose magically grows in length like Pinocchio. I would comment on it, but I keep my little snide remark to myself.

"Then this weekend you're going on the trip. Both of you are. One of you guys needs to change his attitude."

Silence in the room as Triple H and I stare accusingly at each other.

Shane observes this and takes it as his cue to leave. He turns around once and I wave him off. Now it's just that crusty D-generate and me. He opens his mouth to say something and then thinks better of it. Not bad. Maybe Helmsley is learning to know his role and shut his mouth. I tell him this.

"Keep spewing out your garbage, Rock. One day, you'll choke on the trash you talk."

He starts making his way towards the door.

"Good-bye, jabroni candy-ass. Don't let the door hit you on the way out."

Triple H turns around once and his words sends shivers down my spine. I shake it off and smile confidently at him. He just needs to get over his Rock envy. It will happen eventually. He is just one hard case. But for some reason, his words don't leave my mind; even after he is long gone and I'm sitting in the room alone like a solitary rock, no pun intended.

"No, Rocky. Don't let the door hit _you_ on the way out."

 


End file.
